A Family's Duty Read online

  ‘Well done!’ he cried, panting from the exertion of the last gallop up from the meadows. ‘That was magnificent, Rebecca, a lesson in horsemanship – don’t you agree, Paul?’

  ‘Quite good,’ said Paul with a grin. ‘Coming along quite nicely, I’d say.’ He dodged her fist, privately amused at his friend’s raptures; it looked as if a romantic liaison was on the cards.

  ‘Don’t let her lead you astray, dear boy,’ he chuckled, but Geoffrey scarcely heard. Still breathing rapidly from the cross-county gallop with his eyes fixed upon the girl’s back, he was coming to believe that she was his ideal of womanly perfection: a girl he could love.

  Enid Temple raised a questioning eyebrow. ‘Are you all right, Philip? Were you held up at the Manor?’

  ‘I’m fine, Aunt Enid. It was due to the boys – they made me go with them to the stables, to show off the Hassett Manor horses and watch them ride Miss Neville’s mare. They’re a pair of scamps, but Paul Storey’s very good with them, and they got their wish. And then, well, Paul asked me to join him and his university friend for tea in the garden.’

  ‘Good,’ said his aunt, pleased though rather surprised that he had let himself be drawn into everyday life at Hassett Manor. The piano lessons for Charlie and Joe Perrin were turning out to be a blessing, she thought; there had been a definite brightening of her nephew’s rather lonely life since he had taken up Lady Neville’s suggestion.

  ‘And was Lady Neville there?’ she enquired. ‘And Miss Rebecca?’

  ‘Miss Neville was there, but not her mother; I think she was in her office. We were served tea by a lady called Mrs Tanner, and Paul was telling his friend about her history.’

  ‘Ah, yes, Sally Tanner, she’s devoted to the family, and knew Lady Isabel when she was Mrs Storey,’ said Enid with a sigh. ‘I remember Mark Storey’s determination to marry Isabel Munday, although she was only sixteen. Of course, your parents were in the thick of it, and my sister was very sorry for him. He had to wait another two years, but he got her in the end and took her off to that rough East End parish just as the war broke out.’

  Philip Saville remembered it well, and the involvement of his father, the Reverend Mr Saville. And he also remembered Isabel when she was sweet Miss Munday, the carpenter’s daughter, and how all the fellows had envied Mark Storey.

  ‘But the marriage ended in tragedy,’ Enid continued. ‘Poor Mr Storey was never the same after going through all that—’ Enid quickly checked herself, and glanced at her nephew, for the same could be said about him. Philip never spoke of his experiences of trench warfare, the horrors he had looked upon, images that still remained with him and haunted his dreams.

  ‘It’s all right, Aunt Enid, don’t worry,’ he said quietly. ‘There were hundreds of thousands of us, those who were killed and those who came back with their ghosts.’

  Enid had no answer, and he went on, ‘Like Isabel’s brother Ernest who slogged through Passchendaele with that friend of his, Aaron Pascoe.’

  ‘Yes, Ernest was a conscientious objector at the start of the war, but changed his mind when Aaron enlisted,’ she recalled. ‘After Aaron got badly wounded and died, Ernest was taken prisoner, which probably saved his life.’ She paused, remembering the events of twenty years earlier. ‘Then he took over Aaron’s place in the family firm, and married Aaron’s sister as soon as she was old enough.’

  ‘They’ve been happy, haven’t they, with their children?’ asked Philip.

  ‘Yes, it seems so, though we don’t see much of Ernest and Devora these days, living in Everham,’ said his aunt, and kept her next thoughts to herself. If only Philip had been blessed with a Devora to marry, he might have recovered and become an active member of the community instead of the semi-recluse he was now, playing the organ at St Peter’s and refusing all invitations from well-meaning parishioners. Ernest Munday was now senior partner in the firm of Munday and Pascoe, chartered accountants, formerly Pascoe and Munday. Of course, the family were not Christians, but Jews, and Ernest had converted to Judaism. Enid Temple wondered what his mother, the late wife of Tom Munday, would have said about her son’s choice.

  But now Enid Temple, sister-in-law of an Anglican clergyman and leftover spinster from the Great War, found that her views had broadened: did it really matter?

  It was the eve of Bannister’s departure, and Sir Cedric led Paul and Geoffrey out onto the terrace with their postprandial coffee and brandy; Geoffrey longed to spend these last few hours with Rebecca who had gone with her mother and Mrs Tanner to the drawing room for what Cedric affectionately termed their ‘petticoat council,’ much to Rebecca’s resentment.

  ‘As if women weren’t able to appreciate the superior wisdom of men’s minds!’

  On this particular evening, however, both husband and wife wanted to do a little discreet ‘sounding out’ – ‘testing the water’ as Cedric put it to Isabel. Geoffrey Bannister had stayed at Hassett Manor for ten days, and had made a good impression on his hosts. In addition to riding, playing tennis on the Manor court, driving the Daimler down through verdant farmland for a picnic on the downs, their guest had assisted with fruit-picking in the orchard, and the less attractive, back-breaking labour of lifting potatoes. Cedric commented on ‘Farmer Bannister’ as they sat in the August twilight, darkening into the warm velvet of a late summer night.

  ‘You may tell your parents that we have all enjoyed your company, and hope they will spare you to visit us again soon – perhaps in the Christmas vacation?’

  Young Bannister acknowledged the compliments with what he hoped was a modest smile. ‘Thank you, Sir Cedric, I’ve enjoyed every minute here, and look forward to visiting again,’ he said, wondering if the father and son would hear the unspoken words – his admiration for Miss Neville. The smiles and understanding nods of Sir Cedric and Paul were reassuring, allowing him at least to hope for a closer relationship with her in due course.

  But there was something else that Cedric thought should be mentioned.

  ‘Your father’s at the centre of government, Geoffrey; how does he view these events in Europe? It seems as if this German Chancellor has got his eye on countries in eastern Europe, and possibly more. How great a threat does Mr Bannister think he is?’

  ‘Father believes he needs watching, sir, but he isn’t really concerned. If Hitler ever thought of marching his troops into Czechoslovakia, the opposition to him is formidable – Great Britain and France, Italy and the Low Countries – and we’ve got the might of the Empire behind us, that should be enough to warn him off.’

  Paul interposed. ‘What does your father think of the Prime Minister?’

  ‘What – Mr Chamberlain?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Neville Chamberlain.’ Paul smiled as he emphasised the name.

  ‘With that name he must be a good man!’ quipped Geoffrey, though he knew that his father, like many others in the House, had serious reservations about the Prime Minister’s ability to deal with a megalomaniac dictator.

  Paul laughed, but Sir Cedric looked grave. ‘We must hope so, we must fervently hope so,’ he said, adding with uncharacteristic emotion, ‘my dear boys,’ which surprised them; he then deliberately steered the conversation away from politics.

  In the drawing room, Lady Isabel asked her daughter outright how she felt about Paul’s university friend.

  ‘I like him well enough, Mother, and enjoyed his company, but it’s much too early to talk about anything serious,’ answered Rebecca, and smiled as she noticed Sally Tanner’s approving nod. ‘And he’ll have to get his degree before he can start courting!’

  ‘But you like him,’ prompted her mother.

  ‘To be honest, I’d like to have a bit more life of my own before I think about marrying anybody!’

  ‘What a wise girl,’ murmured Sally Tanner.

  Later that evening, as Isabel and Sally talked together over their night drinks, they returned to the subject.

  ‘We’ve heard how Rebecca feels about marriage, but there’s
something else that would have to be told to any prospective husband,’ said Isabel. ‘Before an engagement could be announced, he would have to be told that we adopted her.’

  ‘Don’t tell him yet,’ said Sally Tanner. ‘The penny’ll drop sooner or later, when he works out that Paul and Becky are both twenty-one, with birthdays only six months apart!’

  When Valerie Pearson saw Lady Neville and Miss Neville coming to Thomas and Gibson’s she stood smartly to attention, and replied to the Lady’s ‘Good morning, Miss Pearson’ with a ‘Good morning’ to each of them, adding, ‘How may I help you?’

  ‘We’re looking for some trimmimgs for lingerie,’ Lady Neville told her, and Valerie quickly opened some drawers behind the counter and put out the contents for the ladies to see.

  ‘Oh, what exquisite lace!’ cried Rebecca. ‘Just right for edging round your knickers!’

  ‘Rebecca! What will Miss Pearson think?’ chided her mother, though she smiled, and as she fingered the lace, casually asked, ‘How is your mother, Miss Pearson? I didn’t see her in church on Sunday morning.’

  ‘She – she’s fairly well,’ stammered Valerie, and on hearing this reply, Isabel Neville added kindly, ‘Please excuse us, Miss Pearson, perhaps we’re all a little on edge. I mean this German Chancellor Adolf or whatever his name is – he may be a source of amusement to some people, but for us who lived through the Great War, the very thought of going through all that again – ugh!’

  Valerie Pearson watched the two women, the mother and daughter so at ease with each other, able to agree or disagree without rancour or rebuke, so different from the tension between herself and her own mother. She recalled the fear in Mrs Pearson’s pale blue eyes as she listened to the news on the wireless last night about the continuing unrest in Europe.

  ‘If that Hitler man ever turns on us, like the Kaiser in the Great War, it would be another war, and B – O – M – B – S day and night,’ she had said, spelling out the dreaded word as if there were children present, for to her Valerie was still a delicate child to be protected; she was unable to see that their roles were becoming reversed.

  Suddenly Valerie made up her mind to ask Lady Neville a question, encouraged by that lady’s reference to the German Chancellor.

  ‘Lady Neville – please, Lady Neville, will you give me your opinion about – about the subject you just mentioned: the trouble in Germany, this man Hitler? My mother is so nervous. She went all through the Great War, you see, and lost my father and brother, and she thinks that if it were to happen all over again – I’m sorry, Lady Neville, but Mother and I would – we’re wondering what Sir Cedric thinks. If you wouldn’t mind—’ Valerie’s pale face flushed, and her voice stammered to a stop.

  Together mother and daughter raised their heads in surprise and concern.

  ‘My dear Miss Pearson, what a pity about your poor dear mother!’ Lady Neville’s voice was full of sympathy, for she too had gone all through the Great War and lost her husband, though she made no reference to this. ‘Please, my dear, let me reassure you and your mother, because in fact Sir Cedric hopes that this Hitler can be kept in check, and on the whole he’s optimistic. Last month we had Mr Geoffrey Bannister, the MP’s son, to stay with us, and his father is of the same opinion. We can only hope and pray that they are right. Please try not to worry, my dear.’

  ‘Oh, Miss Pearson, what a shame!’ exclaimed Rebecca. ‘Just tell your poor mother that my father thinks old Adolf Hitler is like a balloon full of hot air, and as soon as other leaders stand up and prick him, he’ll go down like one! And tell her too that she’s lucky to have you for a daughter. I wouldn’t be as patient with my mother!’

  ‘No, I’m sure you wouldn’t,’ said that lady with an amused smile at Valerie, and having chosen and paid for their trimmings, the ladies thanked her and left.

  As soon as they were out of earshot, they shook their heads at what they had heard.

  ‘That poor girl, Mother! What a life she leads with that tiresome old woman – she must be thankful to get away to Thomas and Gibson’s, though old Richardson isn’t exactly brimming over with gaiety – oh, the poor lamb!’

  ‘Ah, Becky, suppose we were like those two, wouldn’t it be just too awful for words?’ said her mother with feeling. ‘And Mrs Pearson isn’t that old, she must be in her fifties.’

  ‘Yes, it would be dire – but at least you’ve given them something to cheer them up a bit,’ said Rebecca, striving to be hopeful.

  Her mother made no answer, being not entirely convinced that their optimism was well-founded. She suddenly thought of her brother Ernest and the Jewish family into which he had married. She wondered if their father, Tom Munday, had heard from him, and would have called on him today if she had been alone, but, having Rebecca with her, she avoided meeting Grace Nuttall at close quarters. She decided to call her brother on the telephone.

  On that same afternoon Ernest and Devora Munday made a surprise call on his father at 47 Rectory Road, the house Ernest had grown up in with his sisters Isabel and Grace. Their mother had died shortly after the end of the war, without living to see her son’s return from being a prisoner of war in Germany. Tom, being now in his seventies, was happy to live with Grace and his son-in-law Rob Nuttall who had been his apprentice and had taken over the carpentry business. Their son Jack was already apprenticed to his father, and their daughter Doreen still lived at home, a quiet, shy girl of sixteen who helped with the housework.

  ‘Good to see you, Ernest,’ said his father. ‘We’ve been wondering how you are.’ He kissed Devora and noticed with dismay how pale she looked, her eyes full of anxiety.

  ‘It’s Devora’s brother Jonathan, Dad,’ said Ernest without preamble. ‘He and his family live out in Elberfeld, as you know, and Devora’s making herself ill, worrying over this anti-Semitism in Germany.’

  ‘Yes, my people are being persecuted by this madman Hitler!’ Devora cut in. ‘They are being turned out of schools and colleges, their businesses are boycotted, and it gets worse by the week. I want Jonathan to bring his family over here to live with us.’

  ‘And I have willingly agreed,’ said Ernest, ‘but Jonathan and Ella won’t leave their home. You can’t blame them, it’s their money and possessions, their business, friends, the children’s schools – everything that makes up their life. Devora wants to go out there and speak to Jonathan face to face, but I’ve had to forbid it, Dad. All this unrest may blow over in another year.’

  ‘How can you say that?’ cried Devora. ‘That madman’s assembling a huge army under his Fascist National Party, and they must be training for a purpose. What would my brother Aaron have said?’

  Ernest closed his eyes at the memory of the friend he had loved more than life. Devora knew and understood, and had always known. Even now when making love to her he would sometimes cry out, ‘Aaron, my love – oh, Aaron, my love!’

  Devora burst into tears. ‘You know Aaron would have saved our brother at all costs! Oh, Tom, please persuade my husband, please, I beg of you!’

  ‘Hush, Devora, you can’t ask that,’ said Ernest. ‘It’s Jonathan’s decision, and only he can decide.’

  Tom Munday endeavoured to stay calm. Grace had come into the room, drawn by the noisy exchanges, and he winked at her and whispered, ‘Make some tea!’

  Aloud he said carefully, ‘Give Jonathan a bit more time. Let the Pascoes go on working hard, show themselves to be good German citizens, and no menace to the state. I honestly believe that Germany has got more sense than to follow a madman. Devora, my dear, you must be patient for a while longer; as Ernest says, it’s Jonathan’s decision to make, to leave everything behind and bring his wife and young Jonny and Ayesha away from the only life they know.’

  Ernest nodded gratefully, but Devora remained stubbornly unconvinced. Grace brought in a tray of tea, and could add nothing to what her father had said. She had always thought it a pity that Ernest had married into a Jewish family and taken on their religion.


  But Tom’s heart ached for his son, and hoped that he had given the right advice; he felt unable to be of any real use in a crisis like this.

  CHAPTER THREE

  1938–1939

  It was Friday, the last day of September, and the Reverend and Mrs Allingham were listening intently to the wireless, and the news of Prime Minister Chamberlain’s enormous efforts to speak face to face with Chancellor Adolf Hitler, and the twelve-hour conference that had taken place at Munich between the two leaders. Mr Chamberlain had obtained what he had striven for – an Anglo-German agreement signed by the leaders, assuring them that Germany would not invade eastern Europe. And Mr Chamberlain had that day arrived at Heston Aerodrome to be greeted by huge, cheering throngs as he waved the precious document. Later, said the newsreader, he had appeared on the balcony at Buckingham Palace with the King and Queen. Mr and Mrs Allingham almost wept for joy at Chamberlain’s words, ‘There has come back from Germany to Downing Street peace with honour: I believe it is peace in our time.’

  ‘Thanks be to God!’ said Roland Allingham with emotion. ‘What a great Prime Minister we have, a man of peace who will go to any lengths to preserve peace in our nation!’

  In the Kennards’ living room downstairs, Joan was trying to comfort baby Josie, born at the end of June, and inclined to cry in the evenings and early mornings. Alan was out visiting a bereaved family, and Joan had offered the breast again to the baby, and checked that her nappy was dry.